The Unbreaking

I’m standing on the broad wooden deck of a seaside restaurant, at a cocktail party, when a wall of water rises up on the other side of the rail. I wait, rooted in place, for the massive wave to crash across the deck and sweep us all to our deaths. It rises and rises, ten stories up, twenty stories. I see schools of fish, octopuses, squids, turtles and sharks and jellyfish, and a great blue whale that fills my view. The wave keeps rising, right in front of me, close enough to touch, nothing between me and doom but an inexplicably unbreaking surface tension. Awe pushes out fear.

To render this properly, I’d need a sheet of paper twenty stories tall. Three feet by two is the best I can do at the moment.